Kiss The Demons Out Of My Dreams
by Shay Stark and Raven Rogers
Summary: Will cannot explain the dreams that haunt him, the beautiful demon whose flesh he craves with a burning passion. Slash. Will/Jimmy.


**Author's Note: I do not own the characters of American Idiot, but I do own the plot ideas and whatnot. This goes along with the AI universe I have in my head, so have fun exploring that if you should so desire to. This is slash and contains descriptions of sex between two very beautiful men, so if you do not like it, do not be supid and read it. Read and review, darlings. 3**

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**Kiss The Demons Out Of My Dreams**

Every night when he goes to bed, Will dreams of a black-haired, hazel-eyed monster he knows should be dead and gone. When Johnny told him the story of St. Jimmy, he laughed it off like the others did and just worried that Johnny's piece of mind had slipped a bit while he was on drugs. But no big deal, because Johnny was home, and now that he and Will and Whatsername shared an apartment, Will could look after him. Right across the hall was Tunny and his Extraordinary Girl and Heather and Miguel, so they had back-up in case Johnny lost it again. But Will has never seen the saint of denial, and he doubts he is creative enough to fabricate a perfect image of what Jimmy looks like even as he sleeps, but the dreams still remain. When he wakes up, his skin is soaked with sweat and he is begging Jimmy not to stop, and when Johnny and Whatsername rush in to check on him, all he can do is turn his face away in shame because he knows he cannot tell them the truth.

In the dreams, he is locked in a fierce embrace with this beautiful demon, and they are tearing each other apart and it is all gorgeous pain and he wants it to never end. He is buried deep inside writhing flames and fucking the beautiful saint through the mattress. And when the saint claws at his back with his nails, he rips skin away and blood runs and Will tears into him with his teeth and they are still fucking, their bodies still wedded, and it feels so good. He bleeds and groans and grunts like an animal, and there is nothing lovelier than the sight of scarlet spills and swaths smeared across that milky white flesh. He rips tattooed flesh off with his teeth and laps up the blood, and the saint moans and arches and begs him harder, faster, deeper. And on the edge of orgasm, he wakes up.

When he wakes up, though, he is afraid and knows there is something wrong because the saint is in his dreams, not Johnny's. It should be Johnny having these images implanted in his head, but at the same time, Will knows they would break his best friend and send him right back to the city. He tries to stay up one night, but the tempting thought of another night with Jimmy sends him to bed eagerly, and he knows he is sick, that something is wrong with him that he feels this way. Violent sex is one thing, but bloody, painful, wonderful sex with St. Jimmy is far beyond his means of control.

As he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, the dream starts at the beginning, just as it always does. He is leaving the house because Heather and Miguel are harassing him, and instead of Johnny getting off of the bus, it is Jimmy. In a leather jacket and black jeans, he is undeniably sexy and the epitome of everything Will has ever wanted in a man. He holds out a hand, his lips lifting into a demonic smile, and there is fire in his gaze, but Will ignores it all and takes Jimmy and draws his close. Their lips meet, and though Jimmy's lips are dry and chapped, they are so soft and taste so divine. And when Will pushes him back, trying to break the kiss, Jimmy falls back on a bed and the room is dark and his clothes melt off of his skin like pale smoke. Will loses control and forces himself inside of the other man, and they rock together, locked together, Jimmy's legs tightening around his waist like a vice, and Jimmy claws his back and blood flows and the world is right again.

But when he wakes up, the clock on his bedside table claims it is a quarter past three and Whatsername is trying to wipe his face off with a cold, wet washcloth. Johnny rubs his back, trying to help draw him out of the dream, but he cannot express in words how realistic these dreams are becoming, how he can feel his back sting when he tries to lay back down.

"Shit, bro," Johnny whispers, and Will jumps at the sound breaking the otherwise heavy silence in the room. "What happened to your back?"

He blinks at Johnny, not understanding, but allows himself to be herded into the bathroom, objecting only slightly at the light flooding the room and burning his eyes. When he can see properly again, he turns his back to the mirror and twists his neck to see what they did. The skin there is marked with violent red scratches, and when he stretches a hand around to touch one, it stings. On the rare nights he and Heather had great sex, his back was roughed up, but this is terrifying to see. He holds still while Whatsername cleans each scratch with peroxide and is not surprised when he sees blood on the cloth when she is finished. She bandages the ones that bled, and after promising both of them he will go back to sleep, Will stays up the rest of the night. In his mind, he can hear Jimmy's cackle, and it scares him.

The next night, he is exhausted after spending most of his day taking care of his little boy, and sleep comes before he can stop it. When he arrives at the 7/11 and Jimmy steps off of the bus, Will shrinks away from him and tries not to cry out in terror at the sight of the saint. He remembers his back, remembers the scratches, and is afraid to find out what Jimmy can do to him. But before he can run, Jimmy is kissing him, and this time, he is pinned to the mattress while Jimmy rides him. His chest is clawed open, and the pleasure comes and Will gives in and holds Jimmy's hips so he can thrust up into him. His fingers dig into the skin and tear it, and the blood makes his hold slippery, and then Jimmy's lapping the blood off of his exposed ribs. And then the saint's walls are clenching around him, throbbing, and he wraps his fingers in Jimmy's hair to yank his head up, licking the blood off of his face before violently, bloodily kissing him.

As soon as he wakes up, this time at half past four AM, he is not surprised to find Whatsername wiping blood off of his chest. The scratches are as deep as they were before, all of them stinging and some of them bleeding, and he stays in his room because he does not need the bathroom light to see these. He traces them with his fingers and shudders, and when he gets off of work, he buys caffeine pills.

But when he does fall asleep two days later, he confronts the apparition in front of him. He will not be afraid of a man who never existed, one that was a figment of Johnny's imagination, one who committed symbolic suicide months before Johnny came home. He stalks out of the 7/11, his chest and back stinging the sting of healing, and he grabs Jimmy by the front of his ripped shirt.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Jimmy?" he demands, shaking Jimmy hard enough to snap his head back and forth, but the saint never drops that sexy smirk, the one that says, _Come on, Will, you know you want to bury your dick in me._ "Why do you keep doing this to me? Go fuck with Johnny! He's the one who killed you, damn it!"

_Johnny might have killed me, but you're the one that can bring me back to life, Will. So close your fucking eyes and let me eat your face off._

The words make him want to scream, and he claws at the haze of dreams until he is awake and panting and staring at the wall. But the cackles are still coming, loud and clear, and when he turns his head to yell at Jimmy, he realizes the saint is here. In his bed. Draped across it in his black jeans and leather jacket, his skin damn near glowing in the darkness because he is so very pale. Then Will does scream, and when Johnny and Whatsername sprint into the room, they refuse to leave the safety of the doorway. Because Jimmy is there, the personification of their nightmares, and their own fear is making it hard for them to help him. But Jimmy seems calm, and when he smiles and sits up, Will slams his back into the wall, wishing he could sink through it.

"What's wrong with you?" Jimmy asks, and his voice is still so smooth, so sexy, so throaty, and Will's cock jumps to attention because it _knows_ that voice, it knows what that voice promises.

Johnny is glued to the spot, his eyes too wide, his breath coming in rapid pants because the one most afraid of Jimmy is Johnny, and both of them know it. All of them know it. Their friends across the hall know it. Johnny is terrified, and Will can see the amusement seeping into Jimmy's eyes. "W-where did you come from? You're not r-real!"

"Can't you see me, Johnny Cakes?" The nickname makes Johnny and Whatsername shudder, but it only pisses Will off. He watches from his position against the wall as Jimmy slinks to his feet and catches Johnny's hand by the wrist, placing the boy's trembling fingers against his chest. "You can see me. You can hear me. You can feel me. Of course, you can't feel me much anymore since I'm sure that guy over there will get a little jealous about it, seeing as he was moaning my name. I should rip you a new one for leaving me, you selfish bastard. How does it feel to be the one thing you always hated?"

"You're not real! _You were never real, you lying bastard!_" But when Johnny lunges at Jimmy, Will comes alive and flies at his best friend, taking the punch Johnny throws with a mild grunt. It hurts.

Jimmy laughs, and the saint is suddenly at Will's back, fishnet tank top scraping the scratches on Will's back as long, thin arms wind around his neck. It feels so damn good and so damn bad and so damn wrong and so damn right. All he wants to do is pin Jimmy to the mattress and fuck him through it to the floor. "Are you fucking stupid, you goddamn waste of space? I'm real and I'm right here."

Will feels the sick urge to laugh at Jimmy's words because now the dreams were all make-believe, and the saint probably just took the stupid bus. Maybe he is more than Johnny's alter ego, and maybe Johnny was too fucking crazy to understand that. And maybe the word "figment" was misused in Whatsername's letter to Johnny because she had a dyslexic moment. When Will turns to ask Jimmy why he is here, his lips are captured in a kiss, and he cannot find the willpower to object to the soft lips and probing, wicked little tongue. He turns completely and wraps his arms around Jimmy's waist, and the saint is _his_, finally _his_, and he will not let Johnny take Jimmy away from him. Johnny has Whatsername and Tunny has the Extraordinary Girl and Heather has Miguel, and he has Jimmy. For what he has suffered so they can be happy, he deserves this. He lost Heather and forgave Johnny and Tunny and moved into this damn building with them, and his payment for that is St. fucking Jimmy.

"Stay," he urges when the kiss breaks, and he can see the light from the hallway glinting in Jimmy's eyes, making them sparkle with life and fire and desire. "No matter what they say. Stay."

The saint laughs again, and he is sure he is about to be told he is an idiot, but Jimmy kisses him again and shoots a nasty glare at Johnny and Whatsername, jerking his head to the side. They oblige and leave, and Will kicks the door shut. Then he pushes Jimmy across the bed and covers the saint's body with his, and he can feel the warmth and eagerness of the body beneath him, and he loves it.

Fuck Johnny and Tunny for abandoning him. Fuck Heather for leaving him. Fuck Miguel for betraying him and dating his ex. Fuck them all. He has Jimmy now, and if they have a problem with it, they can fuck off.


End file.
